It is in middle school, arguably the most awkward stage in anyone’s life, that many get their first periods. Bloody afternoons are met with tears and stress; maxi pads are taped into too-big underwear, trips are made to the bathroom in order to confirm or deny imaginary stains, sweatshirts are tied around the waist to conceal the aftermath of bad timing. And yet, slowly, with practice, girls learn sleight of hand tricks; we become master artists of deception. The magic trick of the period: how to make it disappear.
I learned to address my period in whispers. Do you have a tampon, I would whisper to my friend. The two-syllable word left the taste of cotton on my tongue. My eyes would dart around as if I had just uttered a slur and I now awaited an offended reaction. My friend would nod knowingly, sliding her hand into her backpack. A drug deal-like exchange followed as the plastic-encased cylinder passed between us, from her hand and into mine.
As I got older, I got bolder with my period, possibly as an act of rebellion. I let tampons fall out of my backpack. I left wrappers out in my bathroom. I complained about cramps with my friends. I popped Advil in class and didn’t offer an explanation as to why. My boldness had the intended effect of annoying my mother, who considered bodily functions to be a private topic. The following are the various topics that I was told not to discuss in public: gas, burps, sneezes, snot, sweat, pimples, cuts, blood, and bodies. I learned that my natural bodily functions should never be a topic of conversation. My period is a gruesome, gory condition induced by my body every month. My period is inappropriate.
If talking about my period is inappropriate, then taking time to think about my period must be inappropriate too. I fell silent. Now I buy tampons in bulk on Amazon, or slip a box in with my grocery store purchases. I bring home the box and throw it in the back of my closet, to be pulled out and used up in singles for a week once a month. My period has become casually insignificant.
I know how to talk about my period, I just don’t feel the need to, I tell myself. When friends bring up aches or cramps, I do not object to commiserating. Our conversations are passive; they come in the form of jokes. We laugh about our PMS and glorify Ibuprofen. We do not talk about the stigma of our periods. We shake off the weight of norms, the weight of expectations for our bodies, with laughter. By making our periods casual we conceal them, reimagining the sleight of hand tricks of our past into a comedy routine.
So, it is entirely unsurprising that when I was 18-years-old I felt compelled to look into the actual makeup of the period products I use. I have had my period for five years, yet only recently typed the word tampon into my browser. Why had I never looked this up before? Maybe my interest had never been piqued. Maybe I figured that I already knew what they were made of. If stores sold them, then certainly they had to be safe. Maybe I had no reason to go looking. Or maybe I wish I didn’t need to think about it. By ignoring my period, I neglected to educate myself. The bottom line is: because women are taught to hide or ignore our periods, we do not learn to question the products we use.
I want to share the information I’ve found out with other young people who get periods and may not yet understand their importance, or may be too afraid to seek it out for themselves. It’s important for those who get periods to take the initiative to understand the history and context of the products we use, as society sure as hell won’t do the work for us.
Let me break it down for you:
- The tampon is not a new invention. In Ancient Rome, women made tampons out of wool. African women fashioned tampons out of rolls of grass. Hawaiian women used the soft side of ferns.
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Women used to make their own tampons. Until the 1930s, tampons were strictly DIY projects. As alternatives to pads were not readily available, women were forced to create their own devices. Tampons were made out of rolled up cotton from the doctor’s office, as well as from sponges.
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A man invented the first applicator tampon. In 1933, a doctor named Earle Cleveland Haas created the first commercial applicator tampon. Haas combined the words tampon and vaginal packs to create the product’s name: Tampax.
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Playtex invented the super-absorbent tampon. Playtex became the first company to come out with a synthetic, super-absorbent tampon called “Rely.” They boasted that it could be left in for the entirety of a woman’s period without leaking.
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Playtex knowingly let under-tested products reach consumers. Playtex was aware that these Rely tampons contained carboxymethylcellulose (CMC), a hyper-absorbent substance that acted as a breeding ground for Staphylococcus aureus bacteria (the bacteria that leads to TSS). Yet they still let them reach the hands of consumers with minimal testing.
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It took a crisis to inspire the regulation of tampons. In the 1980s more than 2,200 cases of TSS were reported, 38 of which were fatal. Only after the death and hospitalization of thousands of American women was the link between the synthetic ingredients in super-absorbent tampons and TSS discovered. It was then that the FDA finally stepped in and began enforcing regulations on tampon manufacturers.
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The FDA regulates tampons minimally. Currently, tampons are labeled by the FDA as medical products, which exempts manufacturers from having to explicitly state the ingredients included within them. (In contrast, other products, such as cosmetics, are forced to display an explicit and detailed list of ingredients on their packaging.)
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The health risks of tampons are minimally researched. Even though the average American woman is estimated to use between 12,000 and 17,000 tampons during her lifetime, the health risks associated with the continuous use of tampons still remain unclear. Until more research is done, we cannot fully put women’s minds to rest.
In sharing this information, I do not intend to scare women into switching to different products. It is understandable that feminine hygiene product choice is often influenced and/or limited by comfort, convenience, and cost. If tampons are the best possible choice for you, then they are the right choice for you. Although their regulation is not yet up to par with other menstrual products geared towards women, the FDA does confirm that, if used properly and mindfully, tampons are safe. Yet, because we do not yet understand the risks associated with prolonged life-long exposure, minimizing exposure is still beneficial.
What can you do? First, maintain healthier habits:
- Look for the lowest absorbency tampons that work for you
- Choose tampons made from organic ingredients–most large brands have a more organic option
- Wash your hands before and after insertion
- Change tampons at least every 8 hours- try to avoid sleeping in them
- Switch to pads throughout your period
- Try out menstrual cups! Bonus: they are better for the environment :)
These are just tips to ease the mind, not rules to live by. Although anyone is welcome to ignore this advice, it is important to be aware that any problems associated with menstrual products geared towards those who get periods reflect larger issues surrounding the reproductive body. Our products are used for economic gain whilst our bodies are treated as an afterthought. Society commodifies women by considering the woman consuming a product as less valuable than the product itself. Our periods represent a silent, ever-present cash flow. But by reclaiming our products and seeking out this and similar knowledge, we can learnt to reclaim power over our bodies.